


The Meeting of Fëanor and Nerdanel (Working title)

by art_of_a_diffrent_color



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Minor Violence, Nerdanel is a spitfire, Rugby, Swearing, and Fëanor is in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 11:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18180005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/art_of_a_diffrent_color/pseuds/art_of_a_diffrent_color
Summary: Then he sees her, and she must be the most beautiful thing in the world, or at least at this game.





	The Meeting of Fëanor and Nerdanel (Working title)

Fëanor honestly doesn’t know how he got dragged to the damn match. But here he is, standing in a crowd of people he only vaguely knows, watching a game he only sort of understands. But Fingolfin is playing and it is the first game of the year, so hear Fëanor is being a “supportive” sibling.

 

The home team, the Vala, are up against the challengers from Utumno, The Morguls. The game has been tame for the most part and Fëanor isn’t paying that much attention, so he is not sure what happens, but someone goes down _hard_ and even he can tell that there was some level of foul play involved. He has a moment of worry for his half brother before a snippet of the shouting reaches his ears.

 

“If his dumb ass didn’t want a broken leg then he should have stayed out of the fucken way.” Fëanor groans, because he knows that voice. Morgoth, an upperclassman from Utumno, who has more ambition then ability and a tendency to believe himself superior then everyone else. Fëanor has had a run in with him once before, needless to say it was not his proudest moment.

 

Fëanor is trying to find a decent way to move seats away from the man when a second voice stops him.

 

“You’re just pissy because your boyfriend is gonna be off the team for the rest of the season after that little stunt!”

 

Turning in the direction of the voices, Fëanor spots the two and his heart jumps into his throat and his breath catches for a moment. This must be the most beautiful woman Fëanor has ever seen; with fiery red hair and dark flashing eyes, this woman barely comes up to Morgoth’s chest in height. The other man looms over her, his anger rising at the dig to his boyfriend - filling him with a fury that has the people around them giving them a wide berth.

 

This woman though looks unfazed, her own anger and passion making her practically glow with fury.

 

“Say that again you fucking _cunt_ and I swear-“

 

Whatever Morgoth is going to swear to, Fëanor will never know as the woman thrusts up suddenly and nails the man in the jaw with a swift uppercut. Morgoth drops to the ground, a vaguely shocked look on his face. His head connects to the ground with a crack, and soon the campus authorities are pulling the woman from the stands. It is with no small amount of satisfaction that Fëanor notes that Morgoth must be carried out of the game on a stretcher as he has not regained consciousness. Fëanor however darts after the woman. He finally catches up to her and her escort just outside of the stadium as she is giving her statement to the law enforcement.

 

“- only said that he was upset because his boyfriend is going to be benched for the rest of the season. Then he gets up in my face, and I felt threatened, so I defended myself. I didn’t mean to break his jaw.”

 

“Do you have anyone who can confirm these events?”

 

For the first time since he as seen her, the woman’s confidence wavers.

 

“Well, no but-“

 

“I can!” Fëanor shouts, perhaps too loudly. The woman looks torn between relieved and indignant at having to be saved by some stranger, but she holds her tongue.

 

In the end they are both free to go, and Fëanor turns to the woman. Her hair is a mess, sticking to her face with sweat, a light sunburn rests on her skin and her knuckles on her hand are bloody, and her brown eyes are locked expectantly on Fëanor, silently demanding to know the reason why he followed her.

 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

 

Slowly, her lips turn up into a grin.

 

“I’d like that.”


End file.
